


Auspicious

by Black_Crystal_Dragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Crystal_Dragon/pseuds/Black_Crystal_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade arrives back from his holidays only to find a mysterious visitor waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auspicious

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scenes from ‘The Hounds of Baskerville’: how Lestrade and Mycroft might have met, and how Lestrade ended up in Devon. Lestrade-centric because he is awesome.

The first thing Lestrade did when he arrived back in London was head to Scotland Yard. He had gone to catch his flight straight from work a week before, leaving his car in its usual space, where he could be certain of its safety. The taxi dropped him off by the doors and he headed straight for his car to drop off his suitcase. He didn’t get straight in and drive off, though. He couldn’t resist the pull of work – which, he reminded himself rather bitterly as he started back towards the building, was probably why his marriage was falling apart.

When he arrived at his office, Donovan was looking harried and there was someone waiting in his office. He frowned and went across to his sergeant’s desk, leaning on the edge until she looked up at him. She was clearly shocked to see him, but before she could question what he was doing here, he nodded towards his office and asked, “What’s going on?”

She glanced over and her eyes narrowed as he realised what he was talking about. She shrugged. “God knows. He wants to see you, that’s about all he’d tell me. Didn’t even give me a name. Apparently it’s urgent and ‘classified’, whatever that means. I told him you weren’t going to be in until tomorrow, but he just smiled and went in there anyway.”

“Right,” Lestrade muttered.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity. “You’re supposed to be on holiday.”

“Picking up my car, aren’t I?” he reminded her. “And I thought I’d better come up and find out what you lot have been doing, without me to keep you in line.”

“It’s been terrible,” Donovan said, putting on a serious expression that was utterly ruined by the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “We’ve been letting people go left right and centre.”

“Course you have,” he said with a smile. He glanced across at his office and added, “I’d better find out what he wants, then.”

“Probably, yeah,” she replied, the humour melting out of her face as she looked over. He straightened and turned away, but she called him back. “Oh, and boss?” She was smiling. “Good holiday?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he grinned, a little surprised she had asked but pleased all the same. The good memories kept him smiling all the way into his office.

The man waiting for him was young and looked like the average city boy: young, perhaps a couple of years out of university; sharp suit; nice haircut; and an expensive mobile phone. He looked up from the screen when he heard the door and rose to his feet, slipping the mobile into a pocket and stepping sideways until he blocked Lestrade’s path around his desk. Lestrade’s smile faded slightly at the odd behaviour, but rather than walk all the way around, he held out his hand. “Good afternoon. What can we do for you, Mr …?”

“I need you to come with me, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” the young man told him bluntly, not bothering to offer a name or a hand to shake. “My employer wishes to speak with you.”

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. “Really, your employer? And who might that be?”

“Someone who, for the time being, would prefer to remain anonymous.”

“What’s this about?”

He paused for a moment before he answered. “A rather … delicate matter. Unofficial. I’m afraid I am not at liberty to say more. I’m sure you understand.” The man’s smile was economical, and didn’t involve his eyes. “Now, if you would …”

He gestured towards the door, clearly expecting Lestrade to simply give in and go with him with no explanation. He frowned and folded his arms, widening his stance just in case he decided to try anything. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”

“I really would hate to have to insist, sir,” the man replied blandly.

Lestrade’s mouth actually dropped open in surprise. “Are you threatening me?”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing – especially here, in his own office, surrounded by Scotland Yard’s finest. He almost wanted to challenge the man to ‘insist’, just to see how far he got.

The man smiled and didn’t answer the question. “Please, Detective Inspector. We have a car waiting.”

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” Lestrade snapped, losing his patience. “You can tell you employer, whoever he is, that if he wants to see me he’ll just have to come here. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He shouldered past the man and sat down heavily at his desk. Though he hadn’t planned on staying to make a start on the past week’s reports and case files, he pulled a folder from his in tray and made a show of opening it. He pointedly didn’t wait for the man to leave before he settled back in his chair and started to read.

“Very well,” the young man said, rather cryptically Lestrade thought. As he turned and left the office, Lestrade saw him pull out the mobile phone again. He watched as the man walked towards the lifts, phone already pressed to his ear; clearly he had someone on speed-dial.

His lift hadn’t even arrived when Donovan poked her head around the door. “Everything all right, boss?”

“Yeah,” Lestrade said distantly, though he wasn’t entirely sure that it was. He kept his eye on the man as he put the phone away again, after saying no more than a few words, and stepped into the lift. “He wanted me to go off somewhere to see someone he couldn’t name about something he couldn’t tell me about.”

Donovan pulled a face. “Weird.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade replied. Then he mentally shook himself and added. “Well, if he comes back, let me know.”

“Will do,” she promised, flashing him a smile before she headed back to her desk. Lestrade shook his head and closed the report, returning it to the top of the pile and standing up. The pretence was no longer needed, and he wasn’t supposed to even be here until the morning.

He was just about to open his office door and leave when the phone rang. He went back to pick up the receiver.

“DI Lestrade?” a voice barked before he could speak.

Lestrade swallowed hard, his stomach twisting as he realised who was on the other end of the line. “Yes, Commissioner?”

“I’ve just had a phone call,” the Commissioner said darkly. “From someone very high up. There’s a car waiting for you, apparently, so go downstairs and get in it.”

“Is there something wrong, sir?” he asked, frowning and thinking of the suited man who had been waiting for him. Was this connected, or just coincidence?

“Damned if I know, Inspector,” the Commissioner said with an impatient sigh, “But they were very specific. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, to leave immediately, no questions asked, if you please.”

Lestrade had no idea what to say to that, so he changed tactics and asked, “Do you know who I’m going to see, sir?”

“Not at liberty to say, Inspector, but I’m sure you’ll be introduced in due course,” the Commissioner replied. “And Lestrade? I wouldn’t keep the man waiting.”

He hung up before Lestrade could ask any more questions. He put the phone down and let out a long breath. ‘Someone very high up’, the Commissioner had said – but why would someone like that want to see him? He wondered, briefly, madly, if this could have anything to do with Sherlock, and what he might have been getting up to in his absence – but surely Donovan would have told him of anything major the moment he walked in, if it were worth mentioning. He ran his fingers through his hair.

It didn’t look like he had much of a choice but to go and get into whatever car was waiting for him, and let things take their course. He went back out into the main office and stopped beside Donovan’s desk a second time.

Keeping his voice low, he murmured, “The Commissioner just called, and I think it’s got something to do with Mr Mystery who was in here before.”

“What’s going on?” Donovan asked, sitting a little straighter as her eyebrows drew together in concern.

“No idea, but I’ve got to go with him.”

“You want me to come with you?” she offered, but before she could stand he shook his head.

“No, no need to drag you into whatever this is as well.” Then he flashed her a smile. “But if I don’t come back, I want you to bury the hatchet with Sherlock and get him in to find out what happened to me.”

Donovan sat back and folded her arms. “What makes you think we’d need the Freak?”

She was smiling, joking with him, so Lestrade let the cruel nickname slide this once. He shrugged. “Impress me, Sergeant.”

“We’ll do your restless ghost proud, boss,” Donovan grinned as he turned away and started towards the lifts.

***

There was a car waiting. Unsurprisingly, the city boy Lestrade had met in his office was sitting in the back seat when he climbed in.

“Who are you people?” he asked.

The man didn’t even bother to look up from his phone.

***

The car took them to Mayfair in silence. When they eventually pulled up, the man in the suit looked up and gestured for him to get out. Lestrade did so, taking the opportunity to look at the building they would presumably be entering. There was a small brass plaque by the door that read ‘Diogenes Club Members Only’. He raised his eyebrows and turned to look at the young man.

“Says here it’s Members Only,” he pointed out, jerking a thumb at the plaque. If he was going to be messed about on his first day back from his holidays, he figured he could be obnoxious about it. The man gave him a tight smile.

“And guests, of course,” he said. “Please, follow me, and once we are inside do not speak.”

“Don’t speak?” Lestrade laughed.

He turned to look at him coldly. “Yes, Detective Inspector. It’s one of the club rules, and I’m afraid it must be obeyed.”

“Then what’s the point of me being here?” Lestrade asked, but he was ignored and had little choice but to follow. He wondered what he was here for, if he and whoever he was meeting couldn’t even talk to one another. Were they going to pass notes?

The club was quiet so early in the day, and each member was sitting alone in an armchair with a book, magazine or newspaper. They showed no interest in them as they passed by. Lestrade wondered if ignoring the presence of anyone you happened to see was a rule, as well. The young man led him through a couple of reading rooms into a library, at the back of which was a closed door. He took out a key and unlocked the door, then gestured for Lestrade to go through.

 _What the hell_ , Lestrade thought, and opened it.

***

There was an office, as opulently decorated as the rest of the building. Lestrade’s eyes were drawn to the large desk directly in front of him, fooling him into thinking that he was alone because no one was sitting behind it. Then he cast his eyes around the rest of the room and saw a pair of armchairs, angled in towards the fireplace; one was occupied.

The man wasn’t lounging, but he was sitting comfortably with his legs crossed and looked completely at home in his surroundings. He was wearing a grey three-piece suit, and Lestrade would have put money on it being tailored. He looked the type. Then he glanced away and laughed at his own train of thought. He had an office in a private gentleman’s club, for God’s sake. Of course his suit was tailored.

“Something amusing you, Inspector?” the man said.

“Oh, are we allowed to talk now?” Lestrade asked, taking a couple of steps towards the fireplace until he could rest his hand on the back of the second chair. “It’s just your man out there said there was a rule.”

The man smiled. “Yes, indeed. It’s taken very seriously, you know. People have been expelled for coughing, on occasion.” The smile was still in place, but Lestrade had no idea if he was joking or not. “But, sometimes, it becomes necessary to waive such rules.”

“You sure? I’d hate for you to get in trouble with the other members,” Lestrade said. He was laying on the sarcasm rather more thickly than he normally would, but the man had dragged him out of work. He ought to be busily catching up on a week’s worth of criminal activity, not hanging around an exclusive gentleman’s club on the whim of a man who wouldn’t even give his name.

“Oh, I hardly think so,” the man replied. “My office has been sound-proofed; they’ll never know. Please, sit down.”

Lestrade sat, because the chair looked comfortable and he figured that playing along would probably get him answers faster than resisting at every turn. He wasn’t stupid, regardless of what Sherlock thought. “OK,” he said, leaning back into the cushions. “What am I doing here?”

“Straight down to business,” the man said quietly, with an air of speculation. He paused for a moment before he continued. “Very well, then. I expect you’re wondering who I am.”

“Nobody seems to want to tell me,” Lestrade said, folding his arms. “Are you going to?”

“I have no reason to hide my identity from you, Inspector,” the man said evenly. The fact that he was still smiling, just slightly, was starting to be a little disconcerting. “I believe we have a mutual interest in a certain party. Sherlock Holmes?”

Lestrade nodded. “I’ve worked with him.”

“Yes, I know.”

The way he said it, casually but with such absolute certainty, made Lestrade pause. This man could put in a call to the Commissioner to get him here. He had a position of authority in an exclusive Mayfair club. People were reluctant to divulge his name. He had power. He knew because he’d made it his business to know.

The thought made Lestrade frown. Why did he want to discuss Sherlock? Alarm bells were starting to ring as he asked, “You know Sherlock?”

“Yes, rather intimately, I’m afraid,” the man replied with a dry chuckle. “I’m his brother. Mycroft Holmes. How do you do, Inspector Lestrade.”

He leaned forward and extended his right hand, smiling pleasantly. Lestrade recovered himself and grasped it firmly. As he sat back again, he said, “So, he has a brother?”

“Yes, Inspector. You seem surprised.”

Lestrade wanted to point out that everything about Sherlock screamed ‘spoiled only child’, but he didn’t; he just said, “What about Sherlock?”

Mycroft Holmes smiled, but it was now the expression of a man close to the end of his tether and trying to smooth over his frustration with amusement. Lestrade knew that look; he’d worn it himself a few times, while trying to mediate between Sherlock and one of the many officers he found particularly annoying. “As I’m sure you’re aware, my brother has a tendency to, shall we say, bend the rules.”

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “What’s he done this time?”

“He used a stolen ID card to gain access to a certain facility,” Holmes replied succinctly. He was sure there was more to it, but the careful phrasing told him that he wouldn’t be getting more than that.

“You want me to arrest him?” he asked. It seemed the logical conclusion; he was a police officer, after all. Holmes just smiled at him.

“Not today, Inspector. I would, however, ask you a favour.” He leaned forwards slightly. “Sherlock requires supervision, an authority figure to keep him in line.”

Lestrade actually laughed. “And you think I can do that? In case you hadn’t noticed, Sherlock doesn’t take a blind bit of notice of anything I say or do. I’m like background noise. You should talk to John Watson –”

“You really think he wasn’t there beside Sherlock in that facility?” Holmes said, an extremely incredulous expression passing over his face.

Lestrade looked across at the ash in the bottom of the fireplace. He was right. They were bloody inseparable, these days; of course John was with him. He probably helped. He shook his head. John was a good influence on Sherlock – since he had moved in, Sherlock had been less overtly insensitive, and once, when he had made a particularly biting comment to one of Lestrade’s new officers, a disapproving glare from John had prompted a grunted apology, which was new and a definite improvement.

“He respects you,” Holmes said out of nowhere, and Lestrade looked around sharply. “No, really, he does. You have to filter out all his usual comments about how stupid people are, of course, and remember that he says that about everyone, and then it’s really quite obvious. He likes working with you.”

“He likes that I keep giving him cases,” Lestrade replied darkly. “I guess if anything I’m his dealer.”

“Yes, that’s Sherlock all right – ever the addict,” Holmes said with a sigh and a shake of his head. He sounded genuinely regretful. For all that he seemed annoyed with Sherlock at the moment, it was obvious to Lestrade then that he genuinely worried about him.

“What’re we going to do with him, eh?” he said, looking again towards the empty grate.

Holmes sniffed and said nothing. When Lestrade looked up, he found the man looking at him in the way he sometimes saw Sherlock surveying people, those sharp grey eyes catching every detail of their lives in the minute traces every act and personality trait left behind. Usually that level of scrutiny was aimed at suspect, clients, dead bodies, and Lestrade was catalogued out of the corner of Sherlock’s eye. He felt suddenly naked to feel that same calculating gaze turned on him. There was nowhere to hide from it, no way of covering the evidence because half the time he didn’t even know it was there until Sherlock pointed it out.

Then Holmes’s gaze shifted to meet his, and the easy-going smile was back. “How do you feel about Dartmoor?”

“Sorry?” Lestrade frowned, shifting in his seat. He felt as though he had missed something vital somewhere.

“Dartmoor, Inspector. Sherlock is there.”

“Look, even if I could – I don’t know – persuade him not to do anything too illegal, I’ve got work. I’ve only just got back,” he protested, shaking his head. “They barely let me have the past week as it is …”

“That’s been taken care of,” Holmes said smoothly with a wave of one elegant hand. “Think of it as a fully paid holiday. I’m sure your team can manage without you for a few more days. And don’t worry, you can keep your official holidays, so you needn’t worry about getting time off in the summer to spend with your family.”

“Wait, what?” he spluttered. “How?”

Holmes laughed, and the smile on his face was the same one Sherlock sometimes wore when the case was particularly complex and he had just cracked it. “I occupy a position of some influence, Inspector. I simply exerted it.”

Again, Lestrade got the impression that there were undercurrents here that he couldn’t even begin to grasp – and that he wouldn’t be told more even if he pressed for information, so he let it go. Instead, he said, “That’s rather presumptuous of you.”

“I prefer to think of it as optimistic,” Holmes murmured. “After all, you have looked after my brother before.”

Lestrade thought back to those early days, when Sherlock had been in pieces and for a long time he had thought that he would never put himself back together again. Their first case together – but not really together, because he had fought Sherlock’s involvement every step of the way, at first – he had realised the potential that was being destroyed. He still remembered the hungry look on Sherlock’s face when he had sloped up to the yellow tape, strung out and looking for his dealer, and the way that need for a fix had fallen away so long as his mind was processing the crime scene, and then the witnesses and the evidence and the _case_. There was no less hunger; he had just channelled it in another direction. 

“Yeah,” he said, tightly. DI Greg Lestrade, glorified dealer to Sherlock Holmes. At least he was clean, these days, and one less drug addict made for a better world, even if it did mean they had a deduction addict on their hands, now. Solving crimes was better for Sherlock’s health. He made himself smile. “Suppose I have.”

“You’re entirely too modest, Inspector,” Mycroft said, becoming more serious. “I’ve been keeping an eye for some time. I know – perhaps better than Sherlock – the things you’ve done for him.”

Lestrade looked away, embarrassed and a little disturbed to think of Mycroft ‘keeping an eye’, as he put it. There had been lapses in Sherlock’s recovery, and yes, he’d done most of the dirty work – checking on him when they lost contact for more than a couple of days; sitting up with him to check his heart-rate was constant, even if it was weak, when there were spates of boring cases and he turned back to the drugs. He shrugged. “Anyone would have –”

“I didn’t,” Holmes said.

There wasn’t a trace of shame in his voice – as if it was all right to leave his brother to drag himself out of drug abuse by himself, and do nothing but ‘keep an eye’. He looked up sharply, wanting to be angry, but he really couldn’t imagine this man sitting on the floor of a frankly squalid public bathroom, supporting Sherlock’s body-weight because he couldn’t himself, while he retched into the toilet. That had been a memorable night, for all the wrong reasons.

“What do you want me to do when I get there?” he asked, because it was easier than arguing the point and he didn’t want to get into why Sherlock had been left alone by his family when he had needed them the most.

“You’ll go, then?”

Lestrade shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t know what good it’ll do, but I hear Devon’s nice this time of year.”

“Yes, the forecast does promise pleasant weather,” Holmes said as he stood up. “Do try to keep my brother out of mischief, won’t you?”

“Can’t make any promises,” Lestrade replied, rising to his feet as well. “But I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all any of us can do, with Sherlock,” Holmes said, rather despairingly, and offering his hand to shake again. His grip was as warm and firm as before, and Lestrade found himself smiling. Holmes smiled back and added, “It has been a pleasure, Inspector.”

“Yes,” Lestrade said. “Nice meeting you.”

“There will be a car waiting outside by the time you reach the front door; it will take you straight back to New Scotland Yard to collect your luggage and car. I’m afraid that you will have to leave this evening, however; will that be a problem?”

Lestrade shrugged; there wasn’t anyone waiting at home, looking forward to his return, so it made little difference. “That’s fine.”

“Good. I’ve arranged for you to be on a later train, so you’ll have a couple of hours to re-pack your bags and so forth,” Holmes said with a smile. “My driver will come and collect you around six, and take you to Paddington Station.”

“Great,” he said, though it was worrying that apparently all this had been arranged before they even met.

“Excellent. Now, will you be able to find your way out?”

“I imagine so,” Lestrade replied.

“Then good day to you, Inspector – and don’t forget,” Holmes said, as Lestrade moved towards the door. He placed one finger over his lips, his eyes crinkled in amusement.

Lestrade smiled and mimed zipping his mouth shut before he opened the door.

***

Three days later, Lestrade sat down at his desk and saw that there was a crisp envelope atop the pile of folders containing case files and reports. He picked it up, intrigued by the heavy paper and the cursive script that read ‘Detective Inspector G. Lestrade’. He pushed his thumb under the corner of the flap and tore it open, pulling out the single sheet inside.

He was expecting something typed and printed from a computer, but to his surprise when he unfolded the paper it was written in the same elegant hand that had addressed the envelope. He settled back to read.

> 16th March, 2012
> 
> Dear Inspector Lestrade,
> 
> I am writing to thank you for your assistance in reining in my brother’s indiscretions. I and my employers are most grateful to you. I do hope that he was not insufferably rude when you arrived on the scene, though since we are talking about Sherlock, I imagine that he was, as ever.
> 
> My sources tell me that this little adventure involved the requisitioning of a gun from the local police department – at Sherlock’s insistence, I presume. I’m sure I can only imagine the tedious amount of paperwork involved in such a thing, and I am equally sure that this wouldn’t even occur to Sherlock. Since he will never say the words, I shall on his behalf: my apologies, Inspector, for the trouble caused.
> 
> Please consider yourself welcome at the Diogenes, should you ever feel the need for a little peace and quiet.
> 
> Yours sincerely,
> 
> Mycroft Holmes

Below the name, there was a mobile phone number. Unable to resist, Lestrade pulled out his phone and dialled it, listening to the familiar ring as he pressed it to his ear.

He expected it to go to voicemail, or completely unanswered, but after a few rings, Holmes picked up. “Inspector,” he said, in a voice that was practically a purr. “This is a surprise.”

“Well, you did give me your number, Mr Holmes,” Lestrade pointed out, waving the letter that he was still holding in one hand even though the other man couldn’t see. “And don’t bother standing on ceremony on my account, Lestrade’s fine. Or Greg. Whatever.”

He wasn’t sure what made him offer his first name, but he couldn’t exactly retract it once it was said. He waited to see which name Holmes would choose, and it seemed to take him a long time to make the decision.

“Very well, Greg,” Holmes murmured, emphasizing his name just a little. He could hear the smirk. “Then I must insist that you call me Mycroft.”

“OK,” Lestrade agreed, then quickly changed the subject. “So, I got your letter.”

“Evidently,” Holmes replied, in a tone that was oddly similar to the one Sherlock used when people stated the obvious – or didn’t see what, to him, was obvious. Except there was one major difference: Mycroft sounded amused rather than frustrated.

“Yeah, well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I just thought I’d call and say you’re welcome, you know.”

“Much appreciated,” Holmes said. There was a pause, then he sighed and said, “I’m afraid I must go, I have a meeting with some cabinet members.”

“Sorry if I’ve called at a bad time,” Lestrade said quickly. He hadn’t even thought that he might be interrupting the other man’s day.

“Not at all, Greg,” Holmes said magnanimously. “It’s a pleasure to hear from you. Perhaps we shall speak again soon. Do call me if Sherlock causes you any trouble, won’t you? I can at least try to keep him in line … not that he’ll listen.”

“Thanks for the offer, anyway,” Lestrade said, chuckling to himself. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Yes, do,” Holmes said and his tone sounded strangely warm. “Good morning, Inspector.”

Lestrade took his cue from the other man and replied in a similarly formal tone: “Good morning, Mr Holmes.”


End file.
